#sinclair!reader

[iluvemobitches]

Breeding kink with Steve Harrington (ᐡ⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ᐡ)

Warnings ⚠️: 18+, mdni, breeding kink, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, dirty talk, black!reader, sinclair!reader, soft!dom Steve, aftercare at the end.

Steve's hands were everywhere, warm and reverent as they slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your tank top. The bedroom in his apartment was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a golden glow over his tousled hair and the soft smile playing on his lips. You'd been dating for over a year now, ever since that chaotic night when he'd shown up at the Sinclair house to pick up Lucas for some D&D session and ended up staying for dinner, charming your mom with his easy laugh and helping with the dishes. But it was you he'd been eyeing all night, the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your hips in those jeans, the rich brown of your skin glowing under the kitchen lights.

Now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and clean—mixing with the natural musk of your bodies heating up. He was whipped for you, anyone could see it. The way he dropped everything when you called, how he'd drive across town just to bring you ice cream after a long shift at the mall, or the quiet moments when he'd trace patterns on your arm while watching movies, whispering how lucky he felt. Tonight, though, there was something deeper in his eyes, a hunger that went beyond the usual spark of desire.

"God, Y/N," he murmured, voice low and rough as he peeled your tank top over your head, exposing your bare chest to the cool air. His breath caught at the sight of you—full breasts, nipples already pebbling under his stare, the smooth expanse of your dark skin that he loved to worship. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of one breast, his tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. "You're so beautiful. Every inch of you. I could stare at you forever."

You arched into his touch, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently to bring his mouth back to yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your core ache. Steve was always like this—soft, attentive, making sure you felt cherished even as the heat built. But tonight, as his hand slipped down to cup your ass through your shorts, squeezing the firm flesh, you felt the shift. He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his hazel eyes searching your face.

"I love you," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was, for him. "You know that, right? More than anything."

"I know," you whispered back, smiling as you nipped at his bottom lip. "Love you too, Steve."

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shifted his weight, pressing his hips down so you could feel the hard length of his cock straining against his sweatpants. "Been thinking about you all day. About us. About... the future." His fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, dipping just inside to brush the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. You were already wet, arousal slicking your folds at the mere promise of him.

"What about the future?" you asked, voice breathy as he finally tugged your shorts down, along with your panties, leaving you bare beneath him. He sat back on his heels for a moment, drinking you in—the spread of your thighs, the glistening of your pussy, the way your body invited him closer.

Steve's hands settled on your knees, parting them wider as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up, dangerously close to where you throbbed for him. "Kids," he said bluntly, his breath hot against your skin. "I want kids with you, Y/N. A whole house full. Six little nuggets running around, with your smile and my dumb hair." He chuckled, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone, the way his eyes darkened with want. "I wanna fill you up, baby. Put a baby in you someday. Make you mine in every way."

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly. You'd talked about it before—in vague, dreamy terms during late-night conversations—but hearing him say it like this, raw and unfiltered, ignited something primal. Your breeding kink wasn't something you'd shouted from the rooftops, but with Steve, it felt right, safe, wrapped in his unwavering love.

"Steve..." you breathed, reaching for him, but he caught your wrist, kissing the inside of it before guiding your hand to his cheek.

"Tell me you want it too," he urged, voice dropping to that husky timbre that always made your knees weak. He stripped off his shirt then, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the faint scars from past adventures that you'd traced a hundred times. His sweatpants followed, his cock springing free—thick and veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, eyes never leaving yours. "Wanna breed this pretty pussy. Fill it with my cum until it's dripping out of you. Imagine it—your belly swelling with our kid."

You nodded, words failing as desire choked you. "Yes. God, yes. I want that. With you."

That was all he needed. Steve surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as he notched his cock at your entrance, the broad head nudging your slick folds apart. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your walls around his girth. You gasped into his mouth, the burn of the fullness delicious, your pussy clenching greedily to pull him deeper. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, bottoming out with a roll of his hips that ground his pelvis against your clit. "So wet for me. Made for taking my cock, aren't you? For carrying my babies."

He started moving then, thrusts deep and measured, each one dragging along your inner walls in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His hands roamed your body— one cupping your breast, thumb circling the nipple, the other braced beside your head so he could watch your face. "Look at you," he panted, pace picking up as sweat beaded on his brow. "Taking me so well. This pussy's gonna milk every drop from me. Gonna knock you up, Y/N. Fill you full."

The dirty talk poured from him, soft but insistent, laced with that whipped affection that made it all the more intoxicating. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to urge him deeper, harder. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingled with your moans and his grunts. He shifted angles, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl, and you cried out, nails raking down his back.

"Steve—oh fuck, right there," you whimpered, head thrown back against the pillows. Your dark curls fanned out around you, and he buried his face in your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

"Yeah? You like that, baby? Knowing I'm gonna breed you? Pump you so full of cum that it takes?" His hips snapped forward, cock plunging deep, the head kissing your cervix with every thrust. You could feel yourself fluttering around him, the pressure building like a coil ready to snap. "I want six, Y/N. Three boys, three girls. All ours. You'll look so hot pregnant—tits full, belly round with my kid."

The image he painted, combined with the relentless pace, pushed you closer to the edge. He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles that had you seeing white. "Cum for me," he demanded softly, lips brushing your ear. "Cum on my cock so I can fill you up. Let me breed you."

You shattered, orgasm crashing over you in waves, pussy spasming around his length as you soaked him with your release. Steve groaned, thrusts stuttering as he chased his own peak. "That's it—fuck, yes," he rasped, burying himself to the hilt one last time. His cock pulsed, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your walls white. He didn't pull out, grinding deep to push it further, ensuring not a drop was wasted.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, panting and entwined, his weight a comforting press against you. When he finally softened, he slipped free with a wet sound, his cum leaking from your pussy in thick rivulets. Steve watched, mesmerized, before dipping two fingers inside you, scooping some up and pushing it back in. "Can't let that go to waste," he murmured with a grin, kissing your forehead. "Gotta keep you full."

You laughed softly, pulling him down for a lazy kiss, bodies still humming from the aftershocks. He rolled to the side, tugging you into his chest, one hand splaying possessively over your lower belly. "One day," he whispered, voice tender now, all traces of the dominant edge gone. "We'll make it real. But for now... I just wanna hold you. Love you so much, Y/N. You're everything."

You nestled closer, tracing the lines of his jaw, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Love you too. And yeah... six sounds perfect." The future stretched out before you, full of promise, but right now, in his arms, it was more than enough.

[missmanlykink]

𝜗୧ FLOW STATE | steve harrington ⁺ ‧₊˚

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list - taglist 𝜗୧ | (✿. 2K CELEBRATION !) 𝜗୧

✿. summary: steve genuinely gets into the flow state when he’s fucking you and accidentally goes too fast. (based on this request -> here)

✿. pairing: boyfriend!steve x sinclair!fem!reader

✿. word count: 0.6k

✿. request: “Can you do one where Sinclair reader and Steve where Steve’s going to fast and she has to tell him to slow down a little bit{Steve in flow state 🤣}”

✿. warning: black!reader, rough sex, established relationship, steve is drunk off of you, reader has her own apartment, marks/hickies probably a plethoa of grammatic and punctuation issues

✿. a/n: my first steve x sinclair!reader fic and the first of many bc i will not sleep until everyone knows sinclair!reader.

MORE UNDER THE CUT | 18+ MINORS DNI </3

This happened quite often—Steve being so wrapped up in you that he went so fast you could hardly grasp onto him. All of you. Your beauty, your smell, your noises, your touch, the slight pain of you crawling your nails into his freckled back. It’s not like you didn’t like it when he went fast, you loved it, but sometimes it can be a lot—and this was in fact one of those times.

You were practically squealing from a mix of pleasure and how fast his cock was pounding you. In and out, fast, hard, messy. The wet sounds you made together were obscene—it was most him, considering all you were doing was moaning and holding him tight, but you left like he was going to shake you loose. Your headboard slammed against the very thin walls of your apartment, making the few picture frames you had up shaking; the bed—you’re very cheap bed—was creaking, the bouncy noises the springs were extra loud as his hips snapped yours again. Burying himself to a hilt in your already cum-filled cunt. The sensitivity of both of you made the moans and whimpers and groans even louder. 

You’ve already been stretched out by his impressive girth, but the speed of his thrusts still made your walls sting. “G-God. You’re so fucking gorgeous—“ he choked out, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to scan your fucked out state. Lips parted and puffy, kiss swollen from his lips only; your half-lidded glossy eye, your bare heaving chest. And the icing on the cake was all the marks he left, the deep red and purple man-made blemishes on your soft skin. He knew you were going to be pissed since you had to see your family for Sunday dinner, but you were always good at covering them up.

The lewd image of his pretty sweet girl all dazed from his cock triggers something inside him. Something that made him go even faster. You didn’t know it was possible, but here you were, gasping for air as everything bounces. Your tits, your thighs, your ass, your hair—it was too much. “S-Steve…Steve!” you squealed, legs shaking from the force of him fucking your approaching orgasm.

“M’sorry—I know, but I just—“ he pants, gripping onto your headboard as leverage to keep his pace up. It was like he couldn’t stop for the life of him. Steve is sweating. A line of sweat beaded along his hairline, threatening to fall and drip down the valley of your perky breast—and his lips. Those lips. Bright pink, swollen, and slick from a multitude of things all from you. Your spit from your messy wet kisses, your juices from when he went down on you before absolutely murdering your gummy walls,  the sweat that got on his mouth when he kissed the side of your head. And his hair is messy - which was rare in itself, but never when you’re having sex - he almost looked just as wrecked as you did.

You lift a weak hand to tap his side of his torso, “Steve, baby. Slow down…there’s no - fuck - rush!” you say. Your voice has no oomph, you don’t know how you even spoke a word, and didn’t moan how an embarrassing whimper instead of a proper sentence.

It takes everything in him to slow his rapid movements, but he doesn’t stop. He’s still thrusting into it at a mind-numbing pace. The perfect one in your opinion. He nods frantically before dropping his hand into the crook of your neck and saying, “M’so sorry, baby—you just feel so good and I..You drive me crazy…I-I can’t control myself” into your ear. It makes you whimper. A very loud desperate moan.  Your neighbors hate you.

taglist . ✿: @pumpk1n34v35 @10iceicebaby @cloudniteee @teenwolfbitches28 @noonenuts @pinkposies @filmwh0re @crooked-haven @kelbrave @divinesturn @holy-minseok -> > post if you want be added!

this blog is 18+, do not copy my work for anything without my permission ꔫ / dividers by @/chrisssiren & @/cursed-carmine

[cinnamoncunt]

the lack of sinclair!reader or black!reader the st fics or even appreciation to the black characters in the show is extremely disappointing but not shocking some of yall need to do better!

[peterpark3rsgf]

𝜗୧ RED-HANDED | Steve H.

Based on an anon request - “Can you please write a Steve Harrington fanfic with the reader as Lucas’s sister and they had their relationship because Lucas’s mom doesn’t want her dating and they get caught by the Sinclair family?”

wc - 2.3k

pairings - bf!steveharrington x oldersister!sinclair!reader

warnings - angst (kinda?), bit of fluff, established relationship, secret relationship, no use of y/n

a/n - Wasn’t planning on posting this first but it was surprisingly easy to write. S1 or 2 Steve. Highkey didn’t proofread

To your mom, rules meant safety, keeping you out of trouble, and more importantly, keeping her sane.

Dating was an unnecessary distraction for a growing girl like yourself. A girl of intelligence and stature shouldn’t need to worry about such frivolous things. It was something that you could concern yourself with more in college.

This mindset had never been a problem. You were always a well-behaved child who was more than happy to respect her parents’ wishes. Your parents always worried about your younger siblings rather than you. The standards and goals that they had were always over achieved by you. Academics, athletics, responsibilities, and poise, you had all the boxes checked. You were that– angelic to them.

That was all true until you started dating the reputable Steve the Hair Harrington.

Steve was known for many things. Some good and some not so good. He was a popular heartthrob of a jock who caught your eye this school year. The two of you were partnered together for a chemistry lab. Something you begrudgingly had to accept. Who wants to work with the dumb jock? He ended up changing your opinion on him with his lame jokes and charismatic attitude. You knew who he was, but you didn’t care. His charming smile and words had you smitten.

Your parents saw that Steve was respectable yet a little loose. Something they knew they’d have to keep an eye on.

Your mother let you bend the rules a bit after a bit of pleading. You were a trustworthy daughter anyhow. Not to mention, your parents didn’t want you to miss out on the chances of teenage love. Puppy love as they called it.

Lucas was reluctant to your new boyfriend. His views on Steve stemmed off the opinions of his friend Mike. Which obviously weren’t the greatest. Steve was just an annoying airhead that he couldn’t stand. Every time that Lucas would catch the two of you together he’d roll his eyes and mockingly gag in your faces. You’d scoff and go back to fluttering your lashes at Steve.

Steve tried to cater to your brother but Lucas simply wasn’t having it. That was up until you finally convinced Lucas to come around. He reluctantly did so to appease you. You were his big older cool sister… Steve buying him some new figures sealed the deal.

Erica didn’t really care. She never did. She was more focused on playing out her Barbie and Ranger Dan affair to be worried about whatever you and Steve had going on. She occasionally did ask you about him. Only to see how she could benefit from the two of you.

Both of your siblings mutually liked to tease you about the matter. Especially at dinner time.

“Busy sucking face with Harrington?”

You’d gotten used to it after telling them to shut up a hundred times got annoying. They weren’t wrong after all anyway. You’d spend most of your time with him in your bedroom doing exactly that. ‘Sucking face.’

Your parents weren’t phased until it started affecting their household. That’s when the foot really came down.

It started off with small things such as, coming home past curfew, maybe one or two bad grades on a test, and becoming more short-tempered with your family. Things that were expected of a hormonal teenage girl really. Your mother’s final straw was you sneaking Steve into her house and you sneaking out. It was harmless, truly, but to her it was blatantly disrespectful. Your father agreed on the matter and sat you down about it.

At that point, Steve Harrington was completely off limits.

That didn’t stop the two of you though. It just meant being more quiet and precautious. Phone calls after ten, meeting at the movie theater under the guise of meeting friends, and being on ten toes all the time. Steve was more than willing to play things like this. He was overly obsessed with you and you were just as enamored.

This is exactly why Steve Harrington was crouched beside your bed hiding his face behind a Monchichi plushie.

It was a Friday night and just as boring as usual. Steve insisted that he had to come over, catch up on chemistry notes with Hawkin’s most brilliant. An overused lame excuse that you willingly fell for. As with anytime the two of you were ‘studying’… You’d take the chance to catch up and ogle one another instead.

You were perched beside the doorframe, checking to see who was up and if the coast was clear.

“Lucas on the walkie as usual?” Steve asked with wide eyes. He moved Monchichi away from his face to look at you. His hair stood up over the doll anyway. Very obvious.

Pausing to listen, you could hear the faint sound of your brother and his nerd friends yapping. Erica was in the living room, watching her beloved My Little Pony reruns. You close the door behind you before turning back to Steve.

You laugh as you walk over to him. “Coast is clear. You can stop your awful excuse of hiding now.” He scoffs before standing up and sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Awful? I think I was doing pretty good.” He flails his hand in mock surprise. You sit beside him and a peck a kiss at his cheek. He returns the affection by pulling you in by the waist.

“Y’know, Sinclair, this sneaking around thing is– kinda killing me.” Steve drags out the confession with absentminded circles to your waist. “I don’t wanna hide around your mom all the time.”

He sighs with his fingers tugging at the fabric of your night shirt.

You lean your head your head against his shoulder. “Steve you know it’s not that simple. My mom doesn’t want me dating. Period.” You a place a hand at his thigh as a solace of comfort.

“No, she doesn’t want you dating me–.” Steve rests his head against yours as he wraps his arm around your waist. He continues on. “I mean I don’t get it. I’m not some delinquent.”

“I’m athletic, popular and respectful. I have a car. A job. Hair with-” He vaguely gestures toward his hair. “Structure”

“That’s like…textbook perfection. Right?” He hushes his tone is disbelief. You snicker and press a kiss at his neck. “My mom doesn’t care about your hair, Steve. She just doesn’t want me dating someone slightly– older, or popular, or…”

He cuts you off. “Me, yea I get it.” He pulls away from you and falls backwards on your bed, arms spread out like a star. You fall down beside him.

Turning your whole body towards him, you put a hand on his chest and bring your legs up. The prominent frown on his face causes you to wince a bit before moving in closer. You hated seeing him upset. Especially over your situation.

“You know I love you anyways.” Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek. He turns toward you with a slight pout. You furrow your brows feeling as if you said something wrong, but he quickly reassures you with a kiss to the lips.

He kisses you softly with his hand digging into your hip. It’s slow and desperate, like he’s been needing to hear you say that for a while. You groan into his mouth as you lean further into him, fisting a hand at his sweater.

With the arm that’s still wrapped around you he scoops you over to lay atop of him. Your lips are still connected as he wraps both arms around you, fully showing you how much he needs you.

He pulls back with drunken smile on his face, hands wrapped tight around your waist. “I love you so much.”

“I know you do.” You give him a final peck before lying flat against him. His hands moves up and down your back as he relaxes into the warmth of you on top of him.

Three knocks at the door quickly catch your attention. The both of you freeze. You roll of Steve and fix your moussed curls back in place.

“Shit-” Steve tumbles off of the bed with a thud along with your Monchichi. You hiss at him to go towards the closet. He frantically grabs the doll and stumbles over to your closet, holding it tight as if it’s a shield.

Before you can even answer your door creaks open. “Baby?” Your mom’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. You can feel your heart pounding against the cavity of your chest like a jackhammer. “Why is your light still on? It’s pretty late to still be up.”

You quietly gulp and calm your nerves. “Early studying. Chem test on Monday. Didn’t wanna be behind on anything.” Your mom is silent as she eyes you up and down. You glance over to your closet door, closed and not a sign of Steve.

Her eyes land on the rumpled bed and the extra pair of shoes by your desk. Which she knows for a fact aren’t yours. “Is there someone else in here?” She fully steps into your with her hands on her hips.

Your heart nearly stops. “No, mama. Just me and my books.”

The sound of clatter from the closet immediately betrays you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try not to internally scream.

Your mother looks back at you and crosses her arms. “Steve, get your tail out of that closet.” There’s a brief moment of a silence as you and your mother hold eye contact for a second.

She turns her head while still looking at you. “Now, Harrington.” Her tone raises. That tone you always hated to hear.

The closet door slowly creaked open as Steve’s face became more apparent. He held your Monchichi closely to his chest with an awkward smile. “Uh, hi–Mrs.Sinclair.” Steve waves toward in the direction of mom slowly.

She sucks her teeth before pointing for Steve to sit next to you. Like a prisoner walking to his own execution, Steve walks over to your side with his head hung low and Monchichi cradled in his arms. The bed creaks with the added weight of him.

“Steve!” Lucas suddenly appears at your doorframe with his walkie in hand. Steve waves back awkwardly. “Hey, kid…” Lucas brings a hand up to his mouth as he whispers into his walkie. “Guys, my sister just got caught by my mom with Steve Harrington in her room…totally crazy I know!”

“So how long has this been going on? Or has it never stopped?” Your mom steps closer to take a look at the both of you.

You raise your head in defeat. “We never stopped.” Steve brings a hand to his face to avoid the terrifyingly strict glare of your mother.

“We weren’t doing anything, mom. I swear.” You plead your case to make matters less worse. “It was my idea anyway, Mrs. Sinclair.” Steve glances at you to help.

“Yea, I bet it was.” She flashes him a glare before turning back to you. Erica suddenly appears behind Lucas with Ken and Barbie in hand. “I was wondering how long it’d be before yall got caught.” She scoffs to herself before nudging Lucas.

Your mother turns around sighs. “Go to your rooms.” They flee like mice to their respective places.

She turns back to you and rubs her temples. Steve swallows. “Mrs. Sinclair, I promise you that I care about your daughter and that I would do nothing to hurt her, ever.” You turn towards him with a faint smile.

His confessions falls flat with your mom.

“No more phone calls, movies, weekend plans, or afterschool plans until I say otherwise.” She turns to Steve with disapproval. “And you. I thought you were respectful but sneaking back into my house after I said no more?” She shakes her head.

Steve nods along. “Yea, I deserve that.” A painful wave of silence echoed out across your room. The disapproving glare of your mother was enough to make your skin crawl and beg for forgiveness.

“You can leave now, Steve.” He quickly moves from off of your bed and gathers his shoes. He begins to crawl out the window before your mother interjects.

“Through the door, boy.” Your mom sighs as she points the other way. He turns around and nods. “Of course, the door, you meant the door.” He scurries out of your room before stopping at the door frame to whisper an ‘I love you’ and ‘see you Monday’ You grin before looking back at your mother.

The obvious wear and tear of your Mom’s work tires her out to leave it at that. “We’ll talk later. With your father.” You silently nod.

Your mom leaves your room with a deep sigh and slam of your door. You fall back on to your bed and let out a much needed exhale. This obviously wasn’t going to be the end of you Steve. If this was the way you had to play thing, so be it. You could live with disappointing your mom a bit.

A tap at your window forces you to sit up and turn around. You trot over to investigate the sound.

Once again, Steve. You crouch down to slide your window up. “Steve, did you hear nothing that my mom said?”

He stretches his neck with a chuckle.“I just wanted to say goodnight, Sinclair. Not trying to sneak back in.” He steps closer to your window frame and pulls you in by the cheek for a kiss. You delightfully groan and kiss him back for feels like ages before he pulls back.

“Trust me when I say that I’ll keep sneaking around with you.” He gently pulls you down by the chin to give a tender forehead kiss before bidding his goodbyes.

“See you on Monday, I promise.” He playfully blows you a kiss before running off down the block to his car. You whisper yell. “I miss you Steve!”

You close your window after he waves back and sigh. In complete and totally infatuation you plop yourself onto your bed and squeeze Monchichi. “Oh, Steve…” you coo.

2nd a/n: I really love the concept of Sinclair!reader sneaking around with Steve especially with the support of Lucas and Erica. I highkenuinely wanna write a part two for this that’s Steve gaining the trust of your siblings and having them help him plan a date. Something that includes them. Like I just LOVE the sinclair siblings ugh.

As always if you have any requests, ideas, or suggestions don’t be shy to lmk!

[loveharlow]

💬 : in honor of stranger things s5 vol2 coming out tomorrow, i had this thought all day about steve x sinclair!reader where she's their sassy, badass, no-shit-taking older sister—she finds out billy has been targeting lucas and when that fight between him and steve happens but it's her instead

swearing, sinclair!reader, physical violence, allusions to racism, b*lly

"Harrington! Steve Harrington, is that you?" you called, storming down the dimly-lit street to Steve's curled up frame, coddling himself in the middle of the road. "What...What the hell are you doing? And where's my brother? I've been looking for him all night." You stopped in front of the boy as he pushed himself up on weak legs, crossing your arms as you watched him recollect himself.

"Well, hello to you, too, Sinclair," He grimaced, massaging his side as he struggled to stand to his full height. "You look cute in your little jammies," he joked through his own pain—chuckling at your character pajama pants.

You simply rolled your eyes, pulling your jacket closer to you as a chill swept by. "Don't flirt with me," you quipped, looking around at the dark street around you. "Look, have you seen Lucas or not? I don't want him out this late, especially since that asshole has been bothering him..."

"...Billy?" Steve asked, voice strained.

Your eyes turned to him, skeptical and judging with your arms still crossed as you raised a single brow at him. "Yeah," you answered bluntly, looking Steve up and down. "What's it to you?"

Steve, however, seemed to get lost in his own thoughts, turning towards the Byers' house that he was standing in front of. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, grabbing your wrist and dragging you in the direction of the home.

You struggled to find words as the Harrington boy dragged you along with him, reaching the front door, basically slamming it open as you were met with the sight of a furious Billy Hargrove surrounded by your brother's friends while your brother stood in front of him.

"What the hell?" You muttered under your breath, the air in the room tense as Billy fumed on the spot, looking at Lucas like he wanted to kill him.

"...You are so dead, Sinclair!" Billy warned, voice booming as his jaw shook. At his threat and the hard look on your younger brother's face, your own expression hardened, shoving off your jacket to the floor, stalking towards him. "You're dead."

Just as Billy made a step forward to charge towards Lucas again, you caught him off guard—grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back. "No," You stared him dead in his eyes, fists balled by your side as your other hand tangled into his shirt. "You are."

You decked Billy square in his nose, sending the brawny male flying back further than you honestly expected—crashing into the kitchen counter behind him. Shaking off your aching hand, you turned to Lucas, your face softening.

"You alright?" You asked, to which he simply nodded before you were glaring at Steve.

"You just left this piece of shit in here to pick on my brother, Harrington?" You sassed, looking at him pointedly over your shoulder.

Steve's hands went up in surrender, looking around the room wide-eyed. "What did I do?" He defended, tensing his shoulders. "I'm just the babysitter!"

"Yeah?" You asked, shooting him an incredulous. "You suck at it!"

But behind you, there was a low, guttural growl. Billy was standing up, spitting a bit of blood onto the floor. Gross. His eyes were blown wide, a manic, dangerous glint reflecting the porch lights. He wasn't used to being hit—especially not by a girl.

"You're gonna regret that, you little bitch," Billy hissed.

You hummed, narrowing your eyes at the boy from where he stood across from you. At your lack amusement, Billy lunged forward with his fist cocked back.

But before you could move, Steve was there. He stepped directly into Billy’s path, his chest puffed out, shoving Billy back with a force that surprised even you.

"Hey! Back off!" Steve warned. "You want to fight someone? Fight me. Don't you even think about touching her."

Billy laughed, a harsh, jagged sound—wiping the new trail of blood that was making its way from his nose. "Looks like you've got some fire in you after all, huh?!" He continued laughing, stepping closer to Steve. "I've been waiting to meet this 'King Steve' everybody's been telling me so much about..." Billy snarled, now inches from Steve.

But Steve put two fingers on Billy's chest, shoving him back a few inches. "Get out." Steve demanded, not even a hint of amusement on his face.

Billy stood there a moment—the entire room still and silent, waiting to see if he'd back down and just leave. But, ultimately, he decided against it—cocking his fist back, so quick you barely caught it, before throwing it at Steve's face.

You couldn't help but gasp and step back from the altercation when Steve blocked Billy's hit with his arm, reeling his own fist back and socking Billy in his already damaged face.

Billy fell against the dining table, glasses clattering to the floor as Dustin and the others cheering behind them—but Billy got up, still laughing with blood covering his teeth.

Steve threw blow after blow to Billy's face before he had him cornered in front of the kitchen sink, gearing up to knock him out completely when the Hargrove boy grabbed a nearby plate, smashing it over Steve's head.

The kids stopped their cheering, realizing Steve had lost the upper hand.

Billy took the opportunity, in Steve's moment of disorientation, to stalk over to the boy, punching him again, sending Steve flying to the floor. You stayed near your brother and his friends, guarding them with your arms and pushing them behind you.

The Hargrove boy flipped Steve on his back, his face beaten and bloodied, before straddling him on the floor, starting to beat on him like a madman. You heart dropped, the kids all screaming behind you as you stood not knowing what to do.

But you knew that, if it were you, Steve wouldn't stand around doing nothing. If there was anything you knew about him, it was that. So, swallowing your own panic, you turned to the kids over your shoulder

"Stay here." You ordered, a dangerous glint your eyes as you walked towards the brawling men.

This was probably a bad idea.

But nonetheless, you took the opportunity to punch Billy as hard as you could from behind, knuckles splintering from the force of the punch as Billy fell off of Steve, rolling onto his back.

His angry gaze fell to you as he quickly pushed himself back up, terror filling your eyes as he went to tower over you, walking swiftly towards you and backing you into the corner of the living room before slapping you across the face, so hard you tasted blood on your lip—a small yelp leaving your lips as a fire spread across the side of your face.

Billy took that opportunity to grab you by the neck, pressing you against the wall as your feet kicked below you, hovering over the hardwood floors. His grip tightened, fingers digging into your throat as he leaned in close, his breath hot and smelling of copper.

"You wanna be a hero, Sinclair?" he hissed, his eyes darting to where Lucas stood frozen in fear. "I’m gonna make you watch while I break every bone in that brat's body," He spat, gesturing towards Lucas. "And then, I’m gonna come back for you."

The threat ignited a sharp survival instinct in your chest. As Billy leaned in further to savor the terror in your eyes, you drove your knee upward with everything you had left, connecting squarely with his crotch.

The air left Billy in a strangled wheeze. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for your feet to hit the floor but his hand remained wrapped around your throat. Before he could recover, you grabbed his forearm and sank your teeth deep into the flesh of his arm. You didn't just nip him, you bit down until you tasted the metallic tang of his blood, your jaw locking like a trap.

Billy let out a guttural scream, recoiling and shoving you away as he clutched his bleeding arm. You stumbled back, spitting his blood onto the floor and wiping the rest from your mouth with the back of your hand.

"You touch my brother," you breathed, your voice low, "and I'll kill you."

Billy started to lung forward, blinded by rage, but a shadow loomed behind him. Max appeared, her face pale but determined, holding a syringe she’d grabbed from the discarded kit on the table. Without much hesitation, she plunged the needle into Billy’s neck, depressing the plunger.

Billy froze. His eyes rolled back into his head, his limbs turning to lead as the sedative hit his system. He crashed to the floor, unconscious before his head even hit the wood.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You immediately turned and scrambled over to Steve, who was still slumped against the floor, looking like he’d been trampled over.

"Steve? Steve, hey," you whispered, kneeling beside him and gently taking his face in your hands to check his pupils. "Talk to me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Steve groaned, his swollen eyes fluttering open. He looked at your face—the red mark from the slap, the blood on your lip—and then he actually managed a weak, lopsided smirk.

"Is it... is it weird that I think you look really hot, right now?" he rasped, coughing slightly.

Despite the adrenaline and the terror of the last ten minutes, you felt a dry laugh bubble up in your throat. You sat back on your heels and shook your head, though you didn't let go of his hand.

"Stop flirting with me, Harrington,"

merry christmas eve! enjoy your holidays loves xx

i don't think i've ever written for any stranger things character before soooo lmk what you think!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

©loveharlow

[violetrainbow412-blog]

request by: @sjskswhata thank u so much, pretty!!

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧˖°.

The heat was inherent to summer. And with the weather came that inevitable urge to look for a pool, a kind shade or something cold between your lips. There wasn’t a single day when your younger sister, Erica, didn’t insist with the same determination as always on going for ice cream, as if the whole world depended on it. In reality, it wasn’t just the ice cream.

It was the new mall —bright, exaggerated, impossible to ignore— and the fact that Mom had decided you were the perfect “condition” so Erica could go out with her friends: if she went with you, she could go. Period.

So there you were again, walking among the artificial air conditioning and the too-white lights, while Erica moved forward with determined steps toward Scoops Ahoy, as if it were her personal harbor.

And behind the counter, there he was.

The guy in the ridiculous uniform, easy smile, and a look that seemed to recognize you even before you got close.

Steve Harrington.

A navy blue cap he never wore right, the scarf tied around his neck, the sailor uniform that didn’t look bad on him, even if he seemed to hate it, and that way he leaned his elbows on the counter, as if he were bored with the world but willing to entertain himself with you.

“Look, if we walk faster, there’s no line anymore,” Erica murmured, grabbing your arm, as if she were afraid you might escape.

“Relax, Erica. The ice cream shop isn’t going anywhere.”

The mall was full. People walking, bags swinging in their hands, music coming from hidden speakers, that constant murmur that made you feel small and part of something immense at the same time. There were ads everywhere, neon lights, stores with mannequins that seemed to judge everything from the windows.

Scoops Ahoy felt like its own world. The smell of burnt sugar, the displays full of impossible colors and the bell ringing when the door opened.

Steve looked up.

And smiled.

“Well, well,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “Scoops Ahoy’s favorite crew members are back.”

Robin, next to him, lifted her eyes as if that were the most predictable thing in the universe.

“I swear you cannot say that every time someone comes in,” she murmured.

“I don’t say it to just anyone,” Steve replied, shrugging.

And by “anyone” it was clear he wasn’t talking about Erica, but about you. Suddenly you felt a strange heat that had nothing to do with the weather.

Erica hit the bell on the counter.

“I want the triple strawberry,” she said, as if she were giving a military order. “With sprinkles. And if you put fewer sprinkles than yesterday, I’m reporting you.”

“Wow,” Steve whistled. “It’s always a pleasure serving polite people.”

Then he looked at you.

“And for you, Sinclair?”

You wanted to say something normal. But his eyes were warm, and there was a certain interest in you, even if you were sweaty, your hair puffier than usual.

So it was easy to get distracted.

“Uh… the usual,” you murmured.

“The usual,” he repeated, smiling as if it were a shared secret. “I thought maybe today you could take a risk and try something new.”

“I’m not really into risks.”

“I am,” he said, leaning in a little. “And I trust my recommendations.”

He winked.

Ridiculous. But annoyingly charming.

Robin huffed, and when she spoke, she did so through her teeth.

“My God, Harrington, does that really work?”

“Most of the time.”

Steve prepared the ice cream with exaggerated concentration and in the end passed it across the counter carefully, almost as if it were something important.

“For you.”

“Thanks.”

“On the house,” he added, as if it were obvious.

Erica smiled as if she had won a personal battle, while tasting the first lick of her ice cream.

“You don’t have to—”

“Let the man have a nice gesture, sister,” Erica interrupted. “It’s rude to refuse a gift.”

You bit your tongue. Not because you were convinced, but because arguing with Erica was like trying to argue with a particularly stubborn wall.

Steve smiled, satisfied.

“See?” he said. “Your sister understands manners.”

“She understands taking advantage of opportunities,” you corrected. Erica, too busy enjoying her ice cream, didn’t answer.

You took the cone between your fingers. The cold seeped into your skin, and for a second, there was something almost comforting about the sensation.

“Still, thanks,” you said, trying to sound natural, while you left a dollar in the tip jar.

“You’re welcome,” he answered, and the smile he gave you was less rehearsed than before, softer.

Erica spoke, saying she wanted to sit down. Then she pointed to a table with her chin and practically ordered:

“There. Near the fan.”

You thanked him again and then headed there, feeling Steve’s gaze on your back. Once you sat down, the cold air hit your sweaty skin.

The first bite of the ice cream, the sailor’s recommendation, was sweet, almost too sweet, but pleasant. Erica already had her mouth stained pink when she spoke again:

“You have to respond to the flirting sometimes,” she whispered, as if it were the most natural thing. “That way he keeps giving us free ice cream.”

You licked the cone, as if you didn’t care at all.

“On the contrary, Erica,” you murmured. “The less attention I give him, the more he’s going to try.”

Erica blinked, impressed.

“Wow. Advanced manipulation.”

“It’s called logic,” you smiled, satisfied.

When you turned, you caught Steve watching you from the counter, as if he were waiting to catch your gaze. When he did, he smiled again, that easy smile, a little clumsy, completely transparent.

Robin, from her place, watched the exchange and then let a spoon fall into the metal tub with a dry sound.

“One day,” she murmured. “The boss is going to ask why the product runs out so fast. And when they interrogate me, I’m going to tell the truth. All of it.”

“Zero loyalty,” Steve said, pretending to be offended.

“Zero.”

[earth2starkey]

₊˚⊹ nothing to tame | steve harrington x sinclair!reader

summary: he’s only ever seen you with your hair pressed or pulled back. the first time he sees your curls free, he looks at you like he’s seeing you.

warnings / tags: steve harrington x sinclair!fem!reader, second person pov, soft hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, black reader, cultural identity, steve harrington yearning, gentle touching, sneaking through windows, rain, tenderness, being seen, microaggressions,

wc: ~1.8k

a/n: sorry this took so long, but i thought this was such a sweet request! i really, really hope you enjoy. i love these sinclair!reader concepts, please never stop sending them. i really just hope i do them justice!

cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato

The window opens with a sound you have come to know by heart, wood shifting, metal whispering just enough to make your pulse jump. Even after all this time, your body reacts before your brain does. A sharp inhale. A brief flash of what if. Then relief settles in your chest as moonlight spills through first, silvering the edge of your desk and the posters on your wall.

Steve follows it a second later, careful and familiar, like this is a room he belongs in even if the rest of the world would disagree.

He pauses when he sees you, always does. Like he needs a second to let the sight of you settle in his chest. You’ve noticed that about him. How he never rushes the moment where his eyes find you. How his shoulders drop just a little, tension melting away like being here has already fixed something.

“Hey,” he says quietly, smile already softening his features and making your chest tighten and adoration for the man you get to call your boyfriend.

“You know my mom would actually end you if she caught you climbing through my window,” you whisper, arms folding loosely around yourself. The words come easy, practiced, but underneath them is the familiar thrum of nerves. “Like spiritually. Emotionally. Possibly even physically.”

Steve grins, that lopsided, boyish thing that never quite goes away, even when he’s trying to be serious. “Worth it,” he says. “I’d face her. I’d apologize respectfully. I’d bring flowers.”

“She’d still hate you.”

“Yeah,” he admits, completely unfazed. “But she’d hate me while I’m near you.”

Something warm flickers low in your chest at that.

He swings himself fully inside with practiced ease, sneakers landing softly on the carpet. The room smells like the candle you lit earlier, something warm and familiar, layered with your hair products and the faint sweetness of your lotion. The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in gold, smoothing out the sharp edges of the room, making it feel like the rest of Hawkins has been shut out entirely.

He steps closer immediately, shoulder brushing yours, like distance between you is something he has to consciously fight. You feel it when his eyes flick up, then back to your face. The split second where he notices the bonnet and chooses not to say anything.

The way he waits.

Steve has only ever seen your hair controlled.

Pressed straight and glossy for school. Braided neatly back when you needed it out of the way. Twisted up and pinned when you were tired or running late. Always intentional. Always managed. Always something you did before you let anyone see you.

Never this.

You feel his curiosity like a held breath, like a question sitting just behind his teeth.

“You can say it,” you murmur, fingers already lifting to the edge of the bonnet. Your heart is beating too fast now. You are suddenly very aware of your bare shoulders, the dampness still lingering at your roots.

He shakes his head immediately. “I don’t wanna rush you.”

The sincerity in his voice hits harder than anything else could have. That alone almost undoes you.

You slide your fingers beneath the fabric and take it off slowly, deliberately, like you are unwrapping something fragile instead of just removing it. Your curls tumble free, a little less than damp from the shower you took earlier, springing back into themselves as they fall. They catch the light in soft halos and spirals, shadows curling into shadows. The air feels cooler against your scalp, and suddenly you are aware of how much of yourself is visible.

Your arms cross instinctively, a reflex older than you want to think about.

Steve freezes. Not because he doesn’t know what to do. But because every part of him seems to stop at once, like his body needs time to catch up to his heart. You watch it happen. The way his chest stills. The way his mouth parts just slightly. The way his eyes go wide, then soften, then turn impossibly tender, like he’s looking at something he didn’t know he was allowed to see.

“Oh,” he breathes out.

It sounds like awe. It sounds like disbelief, maybe mixed with something a little like gratitude.

He takes a step closer, then stops himself, hands curling into loose fists at his sides like he’s grounding himself. “You’re…” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your first instinct is to deflect. To laugh it off before it can settle somewhere real. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know,” he says immediately, almost tripping over the words. “I want to. I mean it.”

His hand lifts, then pauses midair. You see the hesitation in his fingers, the way he checks your face before doing anything else. He lowers it again. “Can I feel it?” he asks, voice careful, eyes soft as they flicker back to yours. “You can say no, don’t want— don’t want to be disrespectful.”

You nod, barely. There’s a small smile on your face at his hesitance, and your heart is pounding hard enough that you’re sure he can feel it from here.

His fingers brush a curl near your cheek, feather light, following its shape instead of pulling it straight. The touch is reverent. Curious. Like he understands without being told that this is not something to rush.

“It’s different,” he says softly. “Not like— not bad different. Just. This feels like seeing you in a new light.”

You laugh quietly, more breath than sound, because he looks terrified of saying the wrong thing.. and that just causes your heart to swell with even more. Your eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t really wear it like this.”

“Why?” he asks quietly.

The question is gentle, but it still makes something twist in your chest.

You shrug, a small movement that carries years of practice. “It’s easier not to. Less explaining. Less comments. Less trying to make people comfortable.”

His brow furrows, confusion giving way to something sharper. “Comfortable how?”

You hesitate. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say sitting heavy on your tongue. “At school, my friends always wanna match. Same outfits. Same hair. Same everything.” You let out a quiet breath. “And it’s just.. easier to straighten it. To blend in. Hawkins isn’t exactly built for this.” You gesture vaguely to your hair.

Steve’s expression changes then. Not anger exactly. Something quieter and protective, maybe even offended for you.

“They actually told you to straighten it?” he asks.

You nod. “They weren’t like.. mean about it. Just.. ‘It’ll look cuter.’ ‘It’ll match better.’ ‘It’ll be easier.’” Your hands dance midair, emphasizing each phrase as you speak.

His jaw tightens and you can see it, the way his teeth press together like he’s holding something back. “That’s messed up,” he says. “Why should you have to change to match them?”

You smile faintly, tired and familiar. “Because it’s easier than being the odd one out.”

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to wrap his mind around something that refuses to sit right. “I don’t get that,” he says. “I mean. I get wanting to fit in. But asking you to erase parts of yourself for it? That’s not fair.”

Your chest tightens, emotion creeping up on you before you can stop it.

“When I was little,” you say quietly, “my mom used to sit me between her knees and braid my hair before school. She’d hum while she worked.” The memory comes easily. Warm. Safe. “She told me stories about her mom doing the same thing. About how our hair holds memory. How it carries history and strength and survival.”

Steve listens like this is sacred. Like this is something he will remember. And it is, because it’s you. And anything important to you, is important to him.

“But at school,” you continue, “it was always too big. Too much. Too distracting. So I learned to tame it. Learned when to hide it..”

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he says softly.

“I know,” you whisper, shrugging half-heartedly. “But it did.”

He steps closer then, slow and deliberate, closing the space you didn’t even realize you were holding open. His forehead rests against yours. His hand finds your waist in that familiar grounding and warm touch, steady enough to make your breathing slow. His other hand cups the back of your head carefully, fingers threading through your curls like he’s learning them by touch, like he’s memorizing the feel. He slides that hand down the curve of your jaw before tilting your head upwards with a curled finger underneath your chin.

“Thank you.. I feel really honored you’re telling me this,” he says. “And letting me see you like this. Like.. really see you.”

Your eyes close. Your chest aches in a way that isn’t painful. “You don’t look at me like I’m too much.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “I look at you like I can’t believe you’re real.. ‘cause I can’t.”

He presses a kiss to your hairline, slow and lingering, then another to your temple. When he pulls back, he looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, like he was already falling and this just made the ground disappear entirely.

“You’re not someone pretending to be anything,” he says. “You’re just you, and I love that. All of it.”

Your fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the weight of him. “You’re really serious about this.”

“Dead serious,” he says. “Ask anyone. I’m dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you laugh softly, and this time it doesn’t feel like a shield.

You lean into his chest, your hair brushing against his collarbone. His arms come around you fully, secure and warm, holding you like this is where you are meant to be. Outside, rain begins to fall, soft at first, then steady, tapping against the window like punctuation.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe together. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The way his thumb rubs slow, absentminded circles at your side.

“I’m still learning how to love it,” you admit quietly. “To let it exist without apologizing.”

Steve tightens his hold just a little, not possessive, just reassuring. “You don’t have to rush,” he says. “I’ll be here, learning with you. However you wear it, whenever you’re ready.”

You smile, eyes closing, cheek pressed against his shoulder. The rain keeps falling. The room stays warm. “I love you, Harrington.”

He grins, squeezing you a little tighter as your words settle in his chest, and he presses a final kiss to the top of your head. “I love you even more, Sinclair.”

For the first time in a long time, you do not feel like you are carrying the weight alone. And Steve holds you like he knows exactly how much that means.

[perplexedpondering]

hii!! I was wondering if you could do something with Steve about the Snow Ball with the prompts 2, 5 and 6 with a Sinclair or Hopper reader?? tysm if you do it!!

“Please, just play along.”

Steve Harrington x Sinclair!reader

PROMPT: “Please, just play along.”

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

SYNOPSIS: You don’t usually pay much attention to King Steve. Until you find yourself fighting inter-dimensional monsters with him. Now you can’t help but notice his sad eyes. Heavy fluff.

[MASTERLIST]

[a/n– this is one my favourite things I’ve written ahhhh. I actually found this to be a really interesting take on the prompt, so loved the request. This is my first Sinclair!reader fic, but happy to report not the last as I’m currently working at finishing a requested one too. However, it could’ve gone either way because I’m dying to do a Hopper daughter fic. So keep a look out.]

You had been having a weird month.

Actually, maybe if you were more precise, a weird year. Beginning with the disappearance of Will Byers– the quiet friend of your younger brother. Finding out creatures from a deep underworld were real was the line that marked the start of the inexplicable life you were leading now.

Up until Halloween just past you’d thought that the impending threat that had been posed to you the year before was gone– vanished along with the bald girl you found your brother and co sneaking around the woods with.

It isn’t until you once more stumbled across the sneaky kids you watched growing up and a small ginger girl you’d never met meeting clandestinely for monster hunting that you realised just how naive you’d truly been.

Only this time, they weren’t with a small bald girl. No, this time, they were being flanked with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington.

You’d never bothered yourself with the enigma that was Steve. Actually, you kind of found him to be repulsive. Especially when he still had nasty little side-kicks.

However, watching him deck Billy Hargrove did humanise him to you. Especially when his penchant for the unusually cruel was directed at your sweet brother.

Which is why when arriving at the middle school Snow Ball, with Lucas in tow, you can’t help but notice the red BMW sitting stagnant outside the gymnasium. You watch Henderson emerging from it and fleeing inside. Even from across the parking lot you can see his curls preened into a quaffed heap on his head.

You know it’s Steve delivering him to the dance. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you that they’d cemented some kind of brotherly bond since the demodogs and mind-flayer incidents in early November. You just can’t work out why he doesn’t drive away once he's gone in.

Lucas is vibrating trying to drag you forwards to the sound of music and childlike glee. He was endearing in his little tie. You knew he was excited to make an impression on Max. It was bittersweet knowing he was about to get his first girlfriend. Gone was the tiny boy you remember, replaced with what would soon become a sullen teenager.

“Can you hurry up?” He whines at you.

Your mom had made you wear kitten heels with your long pale blue dress, so you were walking as fast as your sore feet permitted you. She said sneakers weren’t ‘becoming.’ You weren’t sure who you were trying to impress slinging punch to children but it wasn’t worth the fight.

You sigh outwardly at Lucas, practically skipping to the doors. “Geez, it’s not going anywhere dude.”

He ignores you pointedly and runs inside without even noticing that you’ve stopped to look back at Steve.

You finally catch his eyes long enough to see the longing look he was casting inside. You follow its path to Nancy Wheeler, in a dainty purple dress. You’re suddenly very aware of why he hasn’t left. Especially when you see her looking at Jonathon from across the room.

Steve is watching her, while she watches Jonathon, and you stand and take it all in. It was very convoluted, and made you thankful you were mostly uninvolved.

Steve obviously feels the eyes on him and finds you studying their tragic dynamic. He weakly raised an arm to wave at you.

It’s so pathetic that you decide on the spot that the dance can wait. You push forward to make way to the car, dipping down into the passenger window.

He rolls it down in anticipation for you coming over.

“Harrington.” You announce, balancing your arms on the open hole of the door to peak inside. “You always hang around middle school dances?”

You can see the stuttering panic register over his usually arrogant face. “No– what? No. I’m dropping Henderson off… I just–“

He falls short when he sees your smirking face staring back at him. He sighs and casts his eyes down in relief.

“I’m just fucking with you.” You laugh. “Mind if I get in? It’s kind of cold.”

He motions to the door lazily and you push yourself in with verbal confirmation.

“You get roped into the helping committee too?” He asks, twisting his hands around the wheel in what you think might be an anxious tick.

You can’t blame him for being uncomfortable with your close proximity. This is the first time you guys have talked without the threat of certain death.

You sigh dramatically. “You got it. This isn’t my idea of fun, but at least the kids are excited. Lucas changed his tie four times.”

Steve stutters a laugh in knowing. “Yeah, Henderson's got big plans for the night. I miss when things were that simple.”

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.” You muse out loud.

Your bout of radical honesty seems to take him by surprise. He casts his eyes back up at you in shock. Possibly denial.

“I am not jealous. I told you– I’ve just dropped Henderson off.” He mutters insistently.

You can’t stifle the snort back. You’re not trying to be mean. But you feel inclined to help him out. You figure you owe him one for getting his ass kicked by Billy at the cause of protecting the kids.

“That why you’re out here sending Wheeler moon eyes?” You test quizzically.

He exhales a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat. You can see the fight dying out in him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’m trying to pretend that I’m not.” He whispers. “Please, just play along?”

You feel empathetic to his sad eyes. You don’t know what comes over you but you pull his hand into your lap to clasp his fingers around yours. He looks at you with silent thanks, squeezing your hand back.

“You wanna get out of here?” You ask tentatively. “Maybe get a coffee?”

Steve looks over your shoulder at the dance as it keeps the loud tempo of music continuing to ring out.

“You don’t need to go in?” He asks.

You look behind you to see Nancy still handing out drinks. “Nah, I’ll come back to get him. Looks like they’ve got it covered in there.”

Steve smiles back at you with barely concealed gratitude and starts the car.

You guys don’t make it far for coffee. You don’t make it at all. Steve drives aimlessly for a minute before announcing that he has a better idea.

“Have you ever been to the overlook?”

You raise your eyebrow at him in mild bewilderment. You did know the overlook but had never been. It was a hill by the woods in the outskirts of town. It was also the place that half of the junior class had lost their virginities. You don’t think that’s Steve’s intention– you would hope he wouldn’t be so presumptuous– but you can’t pretend you don’t enjoy fucking with him.

“Steve, I’m not going to sleep with you because I feel bad that your girlfriend dumped you.” You chastise.

Once again you see the panic rise in a red glow over his ears.

He fumbles over his words. “I wasn’t– I wouldn’t– I just…”

You can’t stop yourself from bowling over in a painful cackle at his frantic attempt to explain away his suggestion.

Your sides actually ache from the deep laughter emitting from you.

“You’re an asshole.” He says pointedly, but you can hear the amusement in it.

When your laughing eases, you peak back up at him. For the first time tonight, he’s smiling. It’s actually nice. To your surprise you don’t find that you’re completely indifferent to Steve anymore.

“I’m sorry, you’re just too easy to mess with.” You wail. “We can go to the overlook.”

He nods peacefully and drives up the winding roads leading you to the spot. If it wasn’t a good place for no prying eyes for horny teens, it’s as good a spot for stargazing instead. The sky opens up into a boundless pit of twinkly lights swallowed by blue.

There’s no other cars around to your surprise. You suppose it was maybe too cold in the dead of winter for parking. You guys sit in the tranquil quiet for a minute before he clicks play on the radio. The quiet murmuring of tears for fears plays over the speakers.

“Thanks.” He says in the wistful air. “I’m not good with the whole emotions stuff, but I really needed the distraction tonight.”

You hum back at him gently. “I should be thanking you. Now, I don’t have to watch the kids who have no one to dance with sit sadly on the bleachers.”

You don’t have fond memories of your own Snow Ball. You were shy through most of middle school, so it didn’t exactly set you up for getting asked to awkwardly sway during a slow song. Only now as an adult can you appreciate the strangely cruel set up that is a school dance.

Steve looks at you with a perplexing swoop. “No one asked you to dance at your Snow Ball?”

You nod weakly back at him with a small smile. You didn’t hold onto it much, it’s more like a fun fact now that you aren’t an anxious twelve year old.

“Those dicks.” He murmurs. “Middle school boys are idiots. I’d have asked you.”

Steve wasn’t in attendance that night, given that he was the year above you in school. You appreciate the sentiment even though you doubt that it was true.

“It’s not like I was the only one who didn’t get asked, Steve.” You laugh.

He shakes his head and gets out of the car anyway. You watch him, trying to work out what he’s doing, until he stops at the passenger door to pull it open. You raise your brow at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. Turn the music up, and get out of the car.” He says, holding his hand out to you for help.

You turn the knob up a few decibels and grab his hand sheepishly. You feel silly standing in front of him outside of the car in the biting cold air. You stand impotently while he shuts the door behind you, not before rolling the window down so the music can be heard clearly.

“Just so you know, if you’re trying to kill me right that– I have murdered extra terrestrial creatures so you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

You’re using humour to overcompensate for the fear that Steve was about to do something so sweet that you’d never be able to look at him the same again. He confirms your suspicions when he pulls you forward by the hand to position your arms over his shoulders.

“Shut up, Sinclair.” He smirks. “Dance with me.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order, and you do your best to ignore the flutter in your chest when you follow blindly.

It’s awkward for a minute, but once you start swaying with real rhythm you let yourself fall weak to the levity of the situation. You take one last look up at his smiling face and lean forward to lay your head on his chest while you sway to the beat of the soft music.

He keeps his arms clasped around your waist, the warmth of his body keeping your bare arms shielded from the December breeze.

You don’t know how long you guys dance like that. Long enough that there’s a change in song. But when you pull away you feel a strange swell of calm come over you.

You let yourself lift your head up to smile at Steve– who looks a million miles away from the sullen boy who’d sat outside the middle school a half hour ago. He looks down at you with a peaceful hum.

“What?” He asks.

You smile chastely and shrug, still allowing him to hold you in his grasp.

“You’re different, is all.” You whisper. “Better.”

“I’m trying.” He breathes.

“Well… it’s working.” You confirm.

You don’t expect him to swoop forward and capture you in a gentle kiss. You pull back a half second in surprise, but when your brain catches up with your body you let yourself surge forward to attach yourself into a firmer, more certain kiss.

There you stand on the grassy clearing of the overlook, making out with a guy you couldn’t have cared less about a month ago.

Dangerous monsters and kids with superpowers aside– this was the most unexpected happening of the last year or so.

When he pulls back you guys regard each other with soft tendings. You don’t know what it means, but hell, if you’re not excited to find out.

—

Thank you for reading:) If you enjoyed and want your own idea brought to life, you can find my prompt list here. Just drop an ask with a number and what you’d like xx